


Ritual Homecoming

by Emcee



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Het, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:02:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a ritual he likes to engage in after a case. But now that he's in a relationship with Molly, he feels compelled to change it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ritual Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocturnias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturnias/gifts).



> Written for the [Sherlock/Molly Prompt Meme](http://purpleyindom.livejournal.com/22566.html): _Molly and Sherlock have been apart for a significant amount of time (like at least 2 weeks) due to reasons. Upon reunion they have frantic/sweet/rough/awkward/clumsy/angsty/sex._

Sherlock Holmes was not a man of routine. That was not to suggest he did not have an order in which he liked to have things done. Ritual was probably a better word for it. Routine suggested regularity and tedium. Ritual meant procedure and method. While his rituals could take place at any time the fancy struck him, he was always rigid in going through each step.

Take for instance, his ritual for caring for his violin. He was always careful who saw him perform it, lest Mycroft find out about it (Mycroft had given him his violin and Sherlock preferred Mycroft believe he treated it callously). He checked for cracks, wiped the excess rosining dust from the body, replaced the strings, straightened the bridge, and lubricated the string grooves and the pegs.

It was this fondness for ritual that made drug use fascinating for him. After picking up his drugs, he'd wait at least a day (doing it sooner would suggest an addiction). He'd take the cocaine from the box he kept it in and dissolve his seven-percent-solution. He then drew it up into a brand new needle, and injected it into his arm. He only ever took it intravenously. It was the most efficient and the one that required the most ritual.

Of course, those days were behind him now. Even back then, his most treasured ritual was the one he engaged in once he closed a case. He immersed himself in his work. He only slept and ate when it became physically hazardous for him to neglect it and only what was necessary. He devoted all of his energies to solving the mystery before him.

Once he was finished, he was free to indulge in everything he denied himself. His brain stimulated, he gave his full attention to his body.

First came food. Since their first case together, he and John had favoured having a Chinese at the restaurant not far from 221B. They had the finest _Char Siu_ Sherlock had found in London. He would gorge himself on the fine meal, before retiring to the flat to collapse in bed for at least a day.

At least, that had been what he had done previously. Before _her_. Before Molly.

The closing of the case in Lancaster would be the first time Molly would be accounted for in his ritual. He had not been on a case that last more than a day since they had become involved. It had been far too long-- two weeks, in fact. He found himself not hungering for food, but rather for the company of his Pathologist.

As they sat in the back of the cab going towards the restaurant, Sherlock pulled out his phone.

_Safe. Back in London. Where are you?  
-SH_

Quickly, the text came back:

_I've been waiting for you. I'm at your flat.  
-M  <3_

"Stop the cab," Sherlock announced to the driver as they turned onto Baker Street.

He glanced over to John, who gave him a funny look. John was used to his ritual and the deviation seemed to take him by surprise.

Sherlock pulled a few notes from his coat, handing them to the driver. "Here. John, give him directions to take you to Mary's. I'm sure she'll want to see you after our case."

He rolled his eyes at the knowing smirk that came over the army doctor's face. "Say hello to Molly for me."

"Oh shut up," Sherlock grumbled as he climbed out of the cab. He did not look back as he raced the half a block to 221 and threw the door open.

He clamoured up the stairs, dimly hearing the door to 221A open. "Oh, hello Sherlock!"

"Later, Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock called down.

He opened the door to his flat and took a sharp intake of breath. He had not a moment to gaze on her before she was in his arms.

Her mouth seared against his, teeth knocking ungracefully. There was no time for more practiced, smooth kisses. He needed to relearn her taste. His still gloved hands reached up to cup her face, tracing along the lines of her jaw and her cheekbones. Molly let out mewls of pleasure, nipping at his lower lip roughly as he fingers clutched at the lapels of his coat.

"Missed you," Molly gasped between hungry kisses. Her voice was breathless from their activities, already full of longing.

Sherlock let his hands skim down her body. She was garbed in one of his dressing gowns. She'd been at 221B for at least several days. He pulled away briefly to see her cat sleeping on his chair. Ah, she had been there almost his entire sojourn. She really _had_ missed him. Wearing his clothing and sleeping in his bed had been a way to stave off her longing.

Sherlock took a hold of her hips, lifting her easily to carry her across the floor, through the kitchen and into his bedroom. He laid her down on the bed, noting how tidy it seemed. She'd used his absence to her advantage, cleaning up the flat as she was always lecturing him to. It seemed giving her a key had several benefits he did not take into account.

"How did the case go?" Molly asked as she tilted her head back, allowing Sherlock to nip and suck at the tender skin of her slender throat.

"Mm." Sherlock shook his head, licking the spot he'd been focusing on, skin rosy from the attentions. "No. Not now." He leaned in and nuzzled his nose against hers. "Another mystery. Someone's been sleeping in my bed."

Molly's brown eyes widened as Sherlock grinned wolfishly. "And there she is." He claimed her mouth roughly.

When he pulled back, Molly was breathless. Her cheeks had reddened with his pronouncement. Sherlock studied her carefully. His attention was drawn to her hand attempting to slip out of sight inside the long sleeves of her dressing gown.

Sherlock licked his lips. "Someone's been doing more than sleeping in my bed."

"I missed you," Molly repeated her early sentiments. She reached up to loop her arms around his neck.

Sherlock shook his head and took a hold of her arms, pulling them away from him. "Show me."

Molly drew her lower lip up between her teeth and looked up at him in confusion.

"Show me how you missed me," he clarified, raking his gaze down her body.

"But..." Molly squeaked, frowning slightly. "You're here."

Sherlock pulled away from her, kneeling at her feet. "I want to know," he explained. He reached for the belt on her dressing gown, yanking it out of its knot and parting the gown. He let out a possessive growl as her pale flesh was revealed. "Show me."

Molly pushed up the sleeves of the dressing gown she wore, letting her fingers hesitantly slip down her bared flesh.

"Yes," Sherlock growled.

Molly squeaked softly as she let her fingers slither down between her thighs. Sherlock's eyes were riveted to her activities. She teased her opening with two fingers, the tips just dipping between her folds.

Sherlock had only ever seen women touch themselves on John's laptop. Those had always been for the cameras. Molly was focused on her own pleasure, which in turn aroused Sherlock. As much as it was visually stimulating, it was also mentally stimulating. It gave him knowledge of what Molly liked. He catalogued each and every way she touched herself, filing it away in the ever-growing Molly Hooper room in his mind palace.

He noticed she used index and middle finger to slide inside her entrance. She pumped them gently, her thumb slipping over her clitoris.

He raised his gaze from her ministrations to study her face, lips pressed together tightly and her eyes closed.

"Did you think about me?" Sherlock asked.

"Mm." Molly nodded enthusiastically, her movements quickening, obviously spurred on by the sound of Sherlock's voice. He needed to exploit that.

"Is that why you came to my room? To my bed?" Sherlock continued. "Because you wanted to think about what we've done in here?"

Molly nodded once again, biting her lip in order to hold in the moan Sherlock could tell she was suppressing.

"Did you moan for me?" Sherlock felt himself starting to get overheated. Maybe that was because he had yet to remove his coat and scarf. Maybe it was just watching Molly's performance. "Did you moan my name?"

Molly finally parted her lips and moaned, "Sherlock... Oh, Sherlock..."

At the sound of her voice, Sherlock could no longer just watch. Sherlock pulled his gloves off, shoving them into his pocket and slithering up between Molly's legs. He let his own slender digits join hers. Molly keened and her hips rose to meet his grazing touch.

"Please Sherlock," Molly begged. She slipped her fingers out of herself, allowing him to pick up the slack.

Sherlock bowed his head and took Molly's damp fingers into his mouth, sucking and licking them.

Once Molly's fingers were cleaned, Sherlock lowered his mouth to her, finding her wet, warm and wanting. He glided his fingers in and out of her while his tongue slipped over her excited clitoris.

With Molly's hands now free, she slid them into his curls. Sherlock groaned against Molly as she tugged lightly at his hair. She had quickly learned how much he enjoyed the tingling sensation of his follicles being stimulated. His vocalizations vibrated through Molly, causing her squeak in the most endearing manner.

Sherlock's free hand stretched up and palmed her breast. She moaned and arched her back. Sherlock answered her wordless request, increasing his attentions. Clever fingers pinched and tugged at her nipple, before switching to its twin. Molly responded to him beautifully, whimpering and mewling as her body writhed.

In theory, sex was repetitive and dull. Focused entirely on the physical, without mental stimulation. The exchange of fluids seemed repellent and the noises humiliating.

In practice, it was an entirely different story. It was fascinating to see the way Molly moved beneath him. The sound of his name escaping her lips, full of wanton neediness, was melodious. The feel of his skin against hers was invigorating. The chemicals that flooded his brain as they brought each other to climax made the synapses in his brain fire off in a way no drug ever had before.

He could become addicted to her as he had the chemical stimulants. He felt trepidation at the realization, but as she wailed her climax and clutched at his hair, he found himself unable to care. He needed her, needed this. He wanted to drown in the pleasure she provided. He continued to nuzzle and lick her through her peak, bringing her down slowly.

Molly was limp against the bed, her orgasm still muddling her mind. Sherlock slid up her body to claim her lips, knowing the taste of her sex lingered on his tongue. Molly's hands slipped up to cup his face, stroking over the fine bones of his cheeks.

His own arousal was growing uncomfortable. He pressed himself against her thigh, still trapped in pants and trousers. Molly squeaked softly at the insistent press against her. She hummed against his mouth. Sherlock quite willingly allowed her to push him onto his back. She straddled his legs, taking the dominant position.

He had always believed Molly Hooper to be such a mousey woman. She had proven this false time and again, standing up to him when he said something she deemed unkind. Any notion of her timidness was utterly obliterated when she was lost in a haze of lust. She looked down at him with a fire in her warm brown eyes. A pink tongue slipped out over her lips. Delicate fingers drifted over the buttons of his shirt, flicking them open and revealing the pale flesh beneath. She leaned in and pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to his skin. That clever tongue brushed over a nipple and Sherlock groaned, hips bucking in primal reflex.

Molly sat up and her hands moved to his hips, holding him down. She arched a brow, giving him a stern look. Sherlock let out a trembling breath and tried to hold himself still while she continued her descent downwards. He wanted to bury himself inside of her. He understood the allure of sex now.

No, he understood the allure of sex with _Molly_. The physical pleasure of intercourse was only a small fraction of what made the act appealing. He could show her with his body how he had missed her, how he yearned for her. Words he couldn't say and sentiments that came out wrong could be expressed with a pressing of lips and stroke of her cheek. He wanted to use his entire being to communicate his feelings for her, how he felt about her the one time he found himself speechless.

He knew how broken he appeared to "normal" people. In his darker moments, he wondered if there was in fact something wrong with him.

But when he was with Molly, he felt whole. She made him feel like a normal man. More than that, she made him feel like it was _okay_ to be a normal man, even if it was just for that fleeting moment when he was with her.

He reached a hand up to cup her cheek and jaw. Molly turned her head, pressed a kiss to his palm, sucking lightly at the side of his thumb. Sherlock groaned.

Molly slipped down his body further, hands deftly unzipping his trousers, pulling them and his pants down his legs. Her nose crinkled when she reached his feet, his shoes making it difficult for her to get them off. She turned herself around to undo the laces. Her bottom wriggled while she worked.

Sherlock's mouth curved in a wolfish smirk and he reached down, unable to resist smacking that tempting backside. Molly squeaked and turned to look at him. One of Sherlock's eyebrows rose as he appraised her shocked face.

Molly crinkled her nose and went back to work freeing him from shoes socks and finally, trousers.

Sherlock was feeling overly warm. He wondered how much of that was caused by his overcoat. He had not been stripped off that yet. Molly didn't seem too concerned about ridding him of that. When she straddled him, Sherlock found he couldn't care much either.

Molly leaned in, pressing a kiss to his mouth while the tip of his prick nudged against her sex. "Welcome home."

A grunt escaped Sherlock's mouth. The woollen fabric of his overcoat rasped against the tender skin of her thigh as he gripped her waist, bracing Molly as she slipped down his length. He pulled himself against her, groaning into her hair as she took him to the hilt.

"Molly," he groaned. His hips bucked off the mattress, eliciting a squeal from his lover. He was home. She was his home. Before Molly, he would have been content to roam, to always be out on a case with John by his side. Now he had a reason to return.

Molly moved in earnest, her body undulating on top of him. Sherlock's hands slipped over her restlessly, not wanting to leave an inch of soft, warm flesh untouched.

Leaning in, Molly's lips slanted against his. He swallowed the small noises of pleasure she made as she slid up and down on him. He secured his hands on her hips, assisting in her movements as best he could. He was becoming lost in the pleasurable haze of their joining.

It wasn't enough. Would it ever be enough? Sherlock was an addict. When he found something he liked, he wanted as much as it as he could get and what he felt for Molly went far beyond 'like'.

His grip tightened on her hips and he flipped her over onto her back, covering her. His overcoat covered them, needlessly insulated them. They were overheated enough without it, but Sherlock was too concerned with the primal rhythm to disrupt it to remove his coat.

The new position allowed him to move harder and faster inside of her. Molly moaned desperately against his mouth, her fingers finding purchase in his hair, tangling in the curly locks.

Never ceasing in his movements, Sherlock pulled back enough to look over Molly's face. A deep blush spread over her pale cheeks. Wide brown eyes locked with his gaze. He could see all of the affection Molly held for him within those eyes.

"I love you, Sherlock," Molly murmured, vocalizing everything he could read in her expression.

He wanted to respond to her. But it seemed so inelegant. So... Small. Could those three words really articulate everything this woman made him feel? He'd tried to resist the feelings for so long, but he could not deny the overwhelming affection.

Instead of speaking, he brought a hand to her cheek, stroking a thumb over her lower lip. Molly pressed a kiss to his hand and he knew she knew. Molly could not read everyone like he could, but she could read him. She could read him better than anyone. He did not have to feel guilty about all of the things he could not say, because Molly knew them all already.

Sherlock claimed her mouth hungrily, the speed of his thrusts picking up. Molly's fingers tightened in his hair to the point of pain, but he ignored it, solely focused on precipice of pleasure he could feel just ahead.

He slipped his free hand between them, finding Molly's clit easily, rubbing his thumb over it. He wanted to feel her reach her climax with him.

It didn't take much. Molly was already sensitive and it only took a few caresses of her before she released a muffled moan against his mouth and he felt her muscles clamping down on him.

Feeling her reach the pinnacle of pleasure was enough to push him over the edge. Two more rough thrusts and he answered her moan with one of his own. It might have been her name, but by the time it left his lips it was a muffled, incoherent noise of completion.

Molly's lips smoothed over his as he gently rocked against her, riding out the waves of pleasure making his body hum. He felt her tremble as his hips finally stilled.

Reluctantly, Sherlock withdrew from her and rolled onto his back. He wrinkled his nose as he finally stripped out of his overcoat, followed by the jacket and shirt now soaked in sweat.

"I would greatly appreciate if you could always be waiting here when I come home from a case," Sherlock murmured contentedly. He inclined his head to gaze at her, thinking it might be even more convenient if she were just always here.

As always, Molly seemed to be able to read his thoughts. She smiled broadly at him. "I think that could be arranged."

He was just about to comment about how coupling with Molly was a far more satisfying post-case activity when his stomach made an embarrassing rumble. Molly giggled and shifted, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "So you and John didn't get to go out and eat before you came home."

"I was looking forward to arriving home," Sherlock admitted.

"We'll order something in," Molly replied with a smile. She pulled herself out of bed, donning one of his dressing gowns. "I'm not going to have you starve when you're not on a case."

Feeling the sweat clinging to his skin, Sherlock opened his mouth to say that before he worried about food, he wanted to clean up. Before he could, Molly leaned in and kissed him. "Oh, my dear Sherlock... It'll take forty minutes to arrive. We'll have plenty of time for a nice, hot shower."

As Sherlock accepted Molly's kiss, he knew his post-case ritual had forever changed.

 


End file.
